Independence
by EnigmaticBubbleGum
Summary: "The Hotel du Mort burned down, there's an ominous lack of wolfy wet dog smell in the city, and you were just a Shadowhuntered flavored juice box for a nest full of vampires no one even knew existed until today," said Jace, "The situation has most definitely altered, Clary." Snarky banter, Clace, and suspense. Set post COG.
1. Love and vampires

**_I do not own The Mortal Instruments_.**

* * *

Black smoke billowed from the windows of the Hotel du Mort as bright flames licked out from the decaying facade. Water seemed to be totally ineffective in battling the blaze about two hours after the fire department had arrived, fire crews had begun to try chemical remedies. Nothing had any effect.

Frantic people streamed into the streets and could do nothing but watch the blaze. "Well," they comforted each other, "At least that old place is abandoned so no one will get hurt." This both was and wasn't true. While technically there were no people inside, the Hotel du Mort was one of the largest vampire nests in New York City. Hundreds of living beings called it home.

When a shrieking noise became audible from inside the building the people on the street told themselves the sound must have been collapsing scaffolding or maybe a side effect of whatever combustion process was causing the fire to be so difficult to put out yet leave the neighboring buildings miraculously unaffected.

Given that the fire could trace its origin to a source whose alliance had nothing to do with angels and the divine, "miraculous" was the wrong word to describe the force that left the rest of the street unscathed. And those noises were definitely screams of agony, Lily thought with satisfaction as she watched through a crack in the blinds of an apartment across the street as her old home burned. Presented with the choice between instantly burning to death in the daylight or slowly burning to death in the hotel, her former clan mates had chosen to stay inside and hold out hope that the fire could be brought under control while some shelter from the daylight still remained.

Lily knew their hope was in vain. All underground exits had been blocked and the hotel would burn to the ground well before sunset. She'd paid a warlock handsomely to make sure of it.

The pocket of her expertly distressed jeans beeped. Her olive hands withdrew a sleek iPhone and tapped the screen.

_Reminders:_

_- send human subjugate to pick up dry cleaning_

_- release demon fire on Hotel du Mort_

_- decide on final monogram font for towels_

_- interview potential new accountant_

Looking over her shoulder at a coffee skinned vampire with dreadlocks, Lily smiled. "Well, Alex. The ball is rolling now. Raphael. Camille. Everyone. Gone. Just like that."

Alex raised an eyebrow, "I don't know if I'd say, 'Just like that.' That's exactly the kind of thing you say right before you discover that half the nest picked today to have a sleepover in an abandoned warehouse by the river or something. Plus there's the Daylighter. We know he's not in there."

Lily cocked her head to the side and gave a brief nod, "True. It's important to stick to the plan and get carried away with overconfidence. We're immortal. We know how to bide our time." She turned her attention to a man with an impeccable crew cut tied to a chair in the corner of the spotless apartment. "Just ask our host here." She tilted his head to the side, let down her fangs, and bit his neck, taking a long drink as muffled whimpers escaped from the neatly stenciled duct tape covering his mouth.

When she finished, Lily blotted her mouth with a handkerchief and straightened the collar of the man's crisp white shirt. "Don't worry. I do well thought out, sophisticated affairs with personalized details. Nothing impulsive or rushed. Don't you think our host looks just adorable in this new sweater vest? has a fantastic collection this year."

"Dress the food however you want, Lil. I don't really care about plating. As long as we feed and water it conscientiously."

Lily furrowed her delicate brows at Alex. "Taking pride in the aesthetics of your life is very important. A clean, stylish home is the jumping off point for an elegant, accomplished life."

"Uh-huh," Alex grunted noncommittally.

Lily rolled her dark eyes, inserted a needle into the man's carotid artery, and withdrew a thick syringe full of blood. She carefully squirted the deep red liquid into two wine glasses resting on the vintage credenza to her side and handed one glass to Alex. "To traditional vampiric values and our rightful place at the top of the food chain!" she said as she raised her own glass.

They both looked out the window as the Hotel du Mort's roof collapsed, engulfing the remainder of the building in the flames.

"Oooh! And!" Lily raised her goblet again, "To our 'guardians of law and order' who are so consumed with their own rune covered navel gazing that they never notice what's really going on in the Downworld. To the Shadowhunters and their truly jaw dropping level of self involvement and lack of planning! Without them none of this would be possible!"

Alex laughed and took another drink, "Oh, they'll notice eventually," he said. "But by then it'll be too late."

* * *

As she circled around the training mat Clary stared into Jace's golden eyes and sternly reminded herself to focus. This was challenging because she had the overwhelming impulse to run her hands over his leanly muscled torso which she could see outlined underneath his tight gray t-shirt.

"Hey!" Jace whistled. "Up here! What is it with you ladies and treating me like a piece of meat?" A mock thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Oh. That's right. It's my incredible handsomeness. Try not to let it overwhelm you. Now." He tapped a finger to his temple. "Watch your opponent's EYES. Watch your opponent's breath. Get to know the rhythm of their movements."

"What if my opponent doesn't have eyes? Don't some demons have, you know…" Clary mentally cast around for the right words. Sensors? Antennae? Some kind of magical third eye? Moments like this drove home exactly how little she knew about demons. Unnerved, she looked down at the curling silver scars on Jace's elegant hands.

The next thing she knew she was up against the wall of the training room, her body pinned to the rich mahogany panel with Jace's hips, her wrists restrained above her head with his right hand. Clary let out a gasp and tried to squirm away. Jace's breath hitched. He slid both of his hands down to her hips and shifted her body up so her eyes could meet his with only a slight upward tilt of her chin.

He lifted a hand up to stroke her cheek and smiled. "Even a second's inattention can have disastrous results."

His mouth was very close to hers and she could feel the heat of his breath. "I don't know… This doesn't really seem like too much of a disaster…" She licked her lips as she moved her arm around his neck.

Chuckling he brought his mouth down on hers for a leisurely kiss that before too long increased in intensity. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and groaned as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"What do you mean this isn't a disaster?" Jace smiled against her throat. "Clearly this is the most." He kissed her jaw line. "Disastrous thing." He kissed the base of her collar bone. "Ever." His lips move back up her throat. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the sensation of his lips on her skin.

"Well, it's definitely disastrous for anyone who doesn't enjoy seeing you two groping each other in public all the time," came Alec's voice from the training room door.

Clary flushed as she and Jace broke apart. He shifted his body so it was behind hers and let his hands slide around her waist. She could feel his breath in her hair.

"This coming from the guy who made out with a warlock in front of the whole Council," smirked Jace.

Alec turned red but his lips quirked up in a shy smile which Clary felt sure Jace returned with a grin. Alec chuckled and shook his head. "I would try to dissuade you guys from being all over each other constantly but since I'm not one to waste my breath…" He shrugged and ambled out of the training room.

"You're a wise man," Jace called after him, "I knew we were parabatai for reason…"

As soon as the door closed Jace's arms tightened around Clary. His hand swept her hair away from her neck and his lips found her earlobe. "Now…" he said, "Where were we?" Clary closed her eyes and leaned against him as Jace's fingers slipped under her t-shirt, gently running over the skin just above the waistband of her jeans, making her shiver.

The distinctive click of Maryse's heels sounded against the worn hardwood of the Institute's floors and Jace snarled softly under his breath. Clary straightened her shirt and stepped a few inches away from Jace willing herself not to blush.

Maryse raked her eyes over them, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "You know. In some ways I preferred it when you two thought you were related."

Jace just grinned at his adoptive mother. Maryse's expression softened as she looked from Jace to Clary though dark circles bloomed under her eyes and her skin stretched tightly across her already gaunt face. A few days ago Clary had seen a tear stained Maryse bolt out of the library as soon as she'd noticed Clary's presence. Max's loss was still a fresh wound. Still, Maryse had never begrudged Jace the happiness he'd been able to find in his relationship with Clary. It made Clary think more fondly of the serious, often intimidating leader of the Institute.

"Jace," said Maryse, abruptly all business. "I need you, Alec, and Isabelle in the library. Now." She swept out of the room.

Clary brought her forearms up so they rested on Jace's shoulders. Gently he pressed his forehead to hers and they smiled at each other. "You know, my Shadowhunter skills are always in demand. Such is the burden of the fantastically gifted."

"Yeah," she said. "How on earth do you cope?" He slanted his mouth down onto hers and they let themselves get lost in the kiss.

* * *

**A/N: ::: waves hi ::: This is my first fic. I really admire a lot of the other writers on here and am looking to learn my way around. Please read, review, favorite, follow, sing, dance, tell jokes, or give any other kind of feedback. Thanks for your time!**


	2. Societas nostra dummies

Half an hour later Clary was walking out of the front doors of the Institute heading back to Luke's apartment where she was staying alone while Luke and her mother were "finishing up some things" in Idris. Clary didn't like to dwell too much on what "things" Luke and her mother were probably "finishing up" after pining for each other for twenty years. The resulting mental images made her epically uncomfortable but in her heart of hearts she was the last one to deny them some private time. She and Jace hadn't even known each other for twenty weeks and there had been times where she'd thought the heartache might break her. She couldn't even imagine how her mother and Luke had managed to survive their ordeal.

Still, Clary missed them. Whenever she was at the apartment she felt especially unmoored. Determined to finish high school, Simon had fallen back into his familiar routine. Jace, Isabelle, Alec, and the rest of the Shadowhunters she knew had to go back to business as usual which, Clary was rapidly coming to understand, was routinely crazy. Even though they all felt Max's loss keenly they could take no bereavement leave. In between patrols, demon attacks, and training, they were almost constantly on duty, warriors living on the front lines of a never ending battle.

Clary herself was getting trained as a Shadowhunter but nobody seemed quite sure what, specifically, that training should entail. Everyone agreed that she needed to get up to speed in both her defensive and offensive combat techniques but, as had been pointed out rather memorably by Isabelle at the Institute wide meeting on the subject, the Clave simply didn't have a "training for 16 year old random newbie Nephilim" program all lined up and ready to go.

As a result at the next New York Conclave meeting Maryse had called for suggestions as to what such a program might look like. She'd dutifully cobbled together what Jace referred to as a "don't get yourself killed" boot camp that involved intense physical conditioning, weapons training, and primers on demons and the Downworld.

Learning how to not get killed was a great first step, Clary thought, but it wasn't the same as carving out a place for herself in the Shadowhunter world. She wanted to shake the yoke of simply being Valentine's daughter and make a name for herself in her own right.

By sixteen Nephilim children had been training to be warriors for over a decade and Clary knew that given her small stature, artistic bent, and late start it was extremely unlikely that she'd make a place for herself as some kind of Amazonian front line warrior. She doubted she'd even want to be one. Not that she didn't want to fight demons. It was just that "Clary Fray: Warrior Princess" didn't have a ring to it.

An image of Alec acting as a member of an angelic SEAL team while Clary relayed tech geek facts to him via his ear piece flashed across her mind. "The database indicates that this type of demon responds poorly to sulfur rich soil. The satellite has you a quarter mile directly northwest of a sulfur-dense area! Get there as fast as you can and carve the following runes!"

She exhaled slightly, shook her head, and laughed. Judging by the Shadowhunters' lack of affinity for technology "Clary Fray: ops geek" seemed like a very unlikely destiny.

But the Clave must have something like that, right, she thought? Maybe instead of satellites it was a combination of sensors and portals or some kind of psychic connection rune. That sounded crazy but then again if 'all the stories were true' then crazy-sounding was by no means a prohibitive characteristic.

As she turned this over in her head, she noticed the people she passed on the street. A woman in a power suit talking too loudly on her cell phone. A harried looking policeman acting as a crossing guard for a group of twenty or so small kids who were being shepherded across the street by some equally stressed looking people with clipboards. Teachers, maybe? The Shadowhunter world must have business people, cops, and teachers, Clary thought. What exactly were their Nephilim equivalents? What kind of training did they have to go through?

After mastering "don't get yourself killed" did a certain brand of ambitious young Shadowhunter think something along the lines of, "Ok… so demon fighting takes money and I want to increase the Clave's endowment so I'm going to focus on optimizing the revenue stream from tithing mundane governments. Off to a well respected Shadowhunter accounting and finance program I go!"

No. But maybe yes? Noooo...

Shadowhunters with an affinity for spreadsheets didn't seem possible but, then again, the Clave got its considerable funds from somewhere so such Nephilim must exist. Or was there some kind financial acumen rune?

Clary didn't know. That was just the problem. How could she know how she wanted to live her new life if she didn't even really know what her options were?

As much as she loved Jace - and she loved him so much that sometimes she felt her heart would burst - she couldn't see herself being content in a life where her sole purposes were remaining alive and seeing her boyfriend whenever he wasn't busy stabbing demons.

She sighed. Maybe she should approach Maryse about getting some sort of "Nephilim Society for Dummies" book. Of course, it wouldn't be called that. It'd be "Societas nostra dummies" or something. Also, Clary thought, she should consider stepping up her Latin. Maybe that was something she could handle herself but as for the rest of it Maryse of all people seemed like she would be the one to approach. Being the head of an Institute had to be like being a General or a CEO or something. Maybe she could ask to job shadow different members of the Clave? Was there a Shadowhunter guidance counselor or…

"HOLY HELL, CLARY!" She heard the screech of tires and the blaring of horns. She felt strong hands grab her shoulders and yank her backwards.

Simon.

"Watch where you're going, woman!" he said half jokingly, but clearly panicked. "You can't just wander out into the middle of the street, angel blood or no."

Shaken, Clary let out a breath. "Wow," she said equally amazed and horrified, "I guess… I got lost in my thoughts.." Preoccupation with existential malaise was dangerous. No time like the present to approach Maryse with her concerns especially if Clary wanted the present to be in line with the "don't get yourself killed plan."

"You know," she said, "I think I'll head back to the Institute."

"Good," Simon said, still looking concerned, "I'll walk you."

"You're going to the Institute?" she said, in surprise, "Why?"

"The Hotel du Mort burned down," Simon said. "And "Hey! there was a politically significant vampire arson" doesn't seem like something you say via text message. Especially when the text's recipient is from a terrifying race of ancient warriors who stomp on Downworlders like myself for fun."


	3. Notoriously bloody

Simon spent the whole walk to Institute finding different ways to tell Clary that not getting hit by cars was an important life skill. At first it seemed to Clary that he was just venting his annoyance with her carelessness so she let his remarks pass but by the eleventh or twelfth reminder to look both ways before she crossed the street Clary snapped.

"Give it a rest, Simon," she said, "I'm not in preschool."

"I know that. I'm sorry," he sighed, "It's just... That was a pretty epic near miss and now I'm worried about you. This morning's death toll has been high enough. What's got you so distracted that you're on the verge of becoming road kill?"

"Identity crisis, I guess… I don't know where I fit into the Nephilim world or how to figure it out. It's all very teen angst ridden and cliche of me, I know but "Surprise! You're a preternatural being!" will do that to a person," she said and then felt foolish. Simon was a newly minted vampire and he wasn't absent mindedly waltzing into oncoming traffic. "Remind me to ask you how you've remained so level headed about all this."

"Denial, mainly," said Simon cheerfully, scuffing his black Converse against self consciously against the pavement as he walked. "Maybe it's because of the Daylighter thing but I just don't see myself as a member of the blood sucker gang except for, you know, the blood sucking part. And even then I'm more of a restrained sipper. But I'm cool with not fitting into that world because I'm not particularly eager to embrace a vampiric lifestyle if that means running with douchebags. So yeah. Denial: not just a river in Egypt."

"I'm not sure if that's the best long term strateg… Wait..." Clary paused and scrunched her face. "Simon, what did you mean by "this morning's death toll is already high enough?""

"The Hotel du Mort burned down with Raphael's entire nest inside it. When I mentioned that earlier it wasn't just a metaphor or something" said Simon. He shivered and Clary knew it wasn't because of the chilly morning air. His voice caught. "Dozens if not hundreds of vampires died. Or went from undead to your more traditional dead-dead."

"Didn't Raphael want to kill you, though? Like to the degree where I risked giving you the Mark of Cain to protect you from him? And weren't you avoiding that nest like the plague?" Clary asked.

"Well, yes. And yes. Also, yes. But that doesn't mean I like the idea of them all mysteriously burning to death," he said, "If being lit on fire were an acceptable side effect to being a creepy jerk then a sizeable chunk of New York would need to stop, drop, and roll."

"True. I take it you don't think the fire was an accident?"

"The fire burned the du Mort to the ground and the firefighters had a really tough time getting a handle on it but somehow the fire touched no other buildings. My experience with fires is admittedly limited to roasting smores but that sounds really weird to me. And realistically it's Raphael and his buddies. Their demise has to be a windfall for somebody. I know if there were an improbable mass casualty involving hundreds of mundanes everyone, including the Shadowhunters, would be all over investigating it. I just think the Clave ought to know."

They had reached the front doors of the Institute. "Um, Simon?" Clary said, "How are we going to get you in?"

"Dammit," said Simon.

* * *

After a few text exchanges between Clary and Jace, it transpired that the Institute had a section of deconsecrated ground called "the sanctuary" specifically for audiences with vampires. It had fallen largely out of use with the rise in popularity of projections but it was nonetheless still available.

Simon and Clary entered the cathedral-esk room through a side door. Sun streamed through its windows. Clary was especially aware of the noise her footsteps made against the stone floor as she and Simon approached the knot of Shadowhunters waiting for them at an old fashioned board room table.

Seated at the table's head Maryse was a commanding presence in a gray suit and stilettos, her long dark hair twisted up into a bun. Jace, Isabelle, and Alec stood behind the longer side of the table in full Shadowhunter gear which would have made the scene even more intimidating had they not all been covered in copious amounts of green tinged ichor.

As Jace saw Clary approach his face lit up. She smiled back at him and felt her body relax. He grinned, shrugged his shoulders at her slightly, and said, "Hug?" Ichor dripped off his cuff and made a hissing noise as it hit the floor.

Maryse cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Simon recounted the news of the du Mort's destruction.

Towards the end of Simon's explanation Maryse began nodding impatiently. "Look," she said once he was finished, "I appreciate your concern for your fellow vampires. But Shadowhunters don't get involved in Downworlder affairs unless they violate the Accords."

"But how do you know the Accords haven't been violated? So many were killed… It can't just be about a new clan leader knocking off an old clan leader or any of the usual…"

Maryse cut Simon off, "We especially don't involve ourselves in internal disputes when it comes to vampires. They're notoriously bloody."

"To be fair, though, a lot about being a vampire could be characterized that way," said Jace. Maryse shot him a glare.

Simon swallowed and tried again, "But if mundanes or Shadowhunters died this way you'd at least take a look at it, right? Why not with vampires? Because what if some insane warlock is going around magically lighting up gas lines at all known Downworld hang outs or the du Mort is ground zero for a new demonic interdimensional portal or the clan was smote by a rogue Angel? G-" The word died in his throat. Simon swallowed. "Look. I'm new to all this but you all deal with a lot crazy stuff. Maybe there's crazy stuff happening here. You should at least rule it out. That's all I'm saying."

Maryse gave Simon a look that struck Clary as having, itself, no small ability to smite. "Look," Maryse said as if talking to a very small mundane child, "I'm glad you brought this to our attention I'll keep my ears open but to me it sounds like an accident or an internal political dispute. Nothing the Clave needs to concern itself with at this time. Now if you'll excuse me I have to welcome a very auspicious visitor." She glanced over at Clary, "I'm glad you're back, Clary. You've saved me a phone call. Wait right here." Maryse swept out of the sanctuary.

"Unbelievable," groused Simon. "And you guys wonder why you have a reputation for being haughty."

"Actually, no. I don't wonder about that," said Jace, arching an eyebrow. "I embrace it." Clary gave both boys a pointed look. Now was not the time for Jace to get into a snark match with Simon. She turned to Isabelle and changed the subject, "Where'd your mom go in such a hurry?"

"Viola Branwell is coming," Isabelle said solemnly as if that explained everything..

"You mean THE Viola Branwell," gasped Simon making his eyes round.

"You've heard of her?" asked Isabelle.

"Of course not," snorted Simon, "Shadowhunters. Myopic much? Pffft…"

Isabelle narrowed her eyes and flipped her hair but before she could reply Alec broke in. "Viola Branwell is the foremost Shadowhunter rune expert. She's written the introduction to the most recent student copies of The Gray Book as well as several other mandatory textbooks dealing with runes. And she's here to help with your training, Clary."

"Wow?" Clary said, unsure what to do with this piece of information. She didn't know how she felt about the acquisition of a new tutor without anyone asking her about it but she'd come to the Institute with the express hope of figuring out more about the Shadowhunter world and her place in it. Learning more about runes was certainly a part of that especially given her rune creation ability. Clary resolved to make the most of this opportunity.

"Yeah, it's quite the get, actually," said Isabelle, "Viola almost never goes out in public these days. There's an issue with her son or something…"

"Like he's sick?" asked Simon.

"Maybe," shrugged Isabelle. "I don't know. Everyone's very tight lipped about it though occasionally you hear someone mention something about the difficulties associated with demonic poisoning in children so maybe it's that? Then again occasionally you hear someone mention something about Valentine's children being hopped up on unicorn blood," She rolled her eyes. "So who knows? Either way, look at you Clary! Quite the little Shadowhunter rune prodigy! Enough to draw the big guns."

"Look," said Simon, "The fact that the Stephen Hawking of runes or whatever has entered the building is thrilling and everything but everyone seems to be glossing over the fact that a mystery blaze of doom just wiped out a sizable swath of the city's vampire population. Is there some kind of Nephilim arson investigation squad I can appeal to?"

"Yes," said Jace, rolling his eyes, "Because when you're striving to protect the entire world from a demon invasion your number one concern is the fire code."

"Shut up," said Simon. He ran his hands through his hair and gritted his teeth, "How are you people so blase about this?"

"Look," said Alec. "I'll check in with Magnus about the du Mort. As high warlock of Brooklyn sometimes he hears things. And don't count my mom out just yet. Give her an hour or two to digest the news. These past few weeks she's been more or less on auto-pilot. That is to say," he stuttered, "She's been, er, distracted because of…" His voice trailed off. He didn't have to finish his sentence. They all knew he meant Max. Everyone looked at their feet and Clary noticed that the ichor had begun to eat through the Shadowhunters' boots.

They were saved from an awkward silence by the entrance of Maryse and a middle aged woman of medium height with dark brown curly hair, a small oval shaped face, and numerous bruises and iratzes prominently displayed on her hands, face, and neck. "This," said Maryse, "Is Viola Branwell."


	4. There are stories and there are stories

Pandemonium's strobe lights pulsed making everything around Maia seem like a series of snapshots. She needed that sense of being slightly detached from reality in order to process the tangle of events that had enmeshed her over the past few days.

It had started out as a collection of business gripes amongst the pack. Werewolves tended towards jobs requiring muscle or involving animals and as a result were - not unironically - very involved in the blood trade.

Cassie, a werewolf veterinarian whom Maia had seen nearly beat another wolf to death for calling her "Lassie," ran an animal blood supply service that boasted every vampire clan in the city as a client. Or at least it used to. The last few times Maia had seen Cassie she'd been lamenting the sudden failure of her side business. "How, exactly, does a business model based on selling blood to blood suckers fail?" she'd asked bitterly. "I mean, seriously. How is that not a fool proof plan?!"

Cassie's boyfriend Peter, who was rumored to have knocked a Shadowhunter out cold for having the poor judgment to make a "Peter and the Wolf" joke, supplied her with the blood from his halal butcher shop. He was equally mystified as to how business had dried up overnight. As a result they were financially strapped.

Cassie and Peter's story was hardly unique and while the pack always took care of its own, werewolves under stress were decidedly prickly. Saying the pack had been tense would be like saying the Ice Age had been a little chilly. The absence of their pack leader, Luke, made the strain cutting through the pack especially hard to bear. Maia had heard through the grapevine that he was in Idris reconnecting with Jocelyn but none of the pack she'd spoken to had heard that - or anything else for that matter - directly from him.

Then there was the fact that the abandoned police station was becoming more and more abandoned. Fewer and fewer pack members were showing up at meetings. Prior to being bitten and finally finding a home with the Garroway pack, Maia's bunkmate had been a runaway desperate to fit in who hadn't seen her biological family in years. Lately she'd taken to referring to the pack as her "furry family." Maia hadn't seen her bunkmate for days.

In the past, times of trouble had been met with greater pack cohesion and centralization, not less. It wasn't so much that something, explicitly, was wrong. It was more that nothing felt right.

Maia took refuge in the strange half reality created by the club and the whiskey buzz she'd finally started to feel. She took in a deep breath and began to swing her hips and get lost in the music.

Maia made her way towards the bar to get another drink when she spotted a young woman sporting a Peter Pan collar, saltwater sandals, and an iPhone with a picture of a moustache on its case. Given that she was in Brooklyn, this was not at all unusual. But this young woman seemed to have the rapt attention of dozens of club patrons when all she seemed to be doing was standing there blathering on about why she monogrammed her towels.

Milli-seconds later a wall of scent and sensation nearly knocked Maia over. Vampires. This Martha Stewart wanna-be and her cult were all vampires. Maia had been paranoid about the seeming lack of vampire clientele in the city and yet there had been thirty or forty of them here under her nose the whole time. Maybe werewolf customer service just left something to be desired and the vampires had simply found some new blood suppliers. She shook her head at her own overanalysis and resumed her path towards the bar.

"Wow! Who knew Lily could party?" A snippet of conversation floated through the air. Maia froze. This was Lily? She remembered hearing stories about a Siberian vampire named Liliya whose lover was murdered at the hands of the demon Yanluo. Liliya had proceeded to decimate any village that had had the misfortune to cross Yanluo's path reasoning that since they had harbored him at some point, knowingly or not, they were complicit in her lover's murder.

She seemed to have made a point of being conspicuous. Instead of picking off the villagers one by one in such a way that the deaths could be mistaken for a mundane serial killer or a plague, Liliya wiped a whole village out in a single night. Those lucky enough to have been away from their village for that night would return to find their newly immaculate homes feng shui-ed with the drained corpses of their loved ones.

The Beijing vampire clan was eventually able to bring Liliya and the army of fledging vampires she'd managed to amass to heel but not without a death toll of such astronomical proportions that the entire Downworld had been worried the mundanes would learn of their existence. After the Beijing clan got a hold of her, Liliya had never been heard from again so maybe this was a case of oral histories becoming tall tales as had been known to happen in the packs. Though "all the stories are true" as the saying went so who knew?

Now here was this vampire, right in front of Maia talking about Lily. But Lily was a fairly common name so this couldn't be *that* Lily, could it? No… That was the whiskey talking. "Whiskey overdramatizes everything," Maia said out loud to no one in particular. Affirmed by this, she resumed her quest for the bar.

"Top shelf Tru Blood? I'm having a hell of week." A vampire who resembled a Wall Street broker conspicuously laid a hundred dollar bill down on the bar. The bartender rolled her eyes and turned her attention to another customer.

Maia widened her eyes at him. What kind of ridiculousness was this? She would normally refrain from getting involved but her blood alcohol content had other ideas. "Seriously, dude? Tru Blood? You think *that's* a thing?"

"Well… Yeah," the broker said defiantly. "All the stories are true."

"Wait… What… No…" Maia sputtered, "I mean, yes. They are. But, no. They're not. There are stories that people make up for fun and then there are cultural truths that have been circulating for hundreds of years…"

The broker pointedly ignored her but she reminded herself she shouldn't really have expected him to do anything else. People like him always ignored people like her. The bartender locked gazes with Maia and they both rolled their eyes. "And maybe a Tru Blood-tini for my mistress, barkeep! Make sure there are no smudges on the glass and the blood is from an excellent vintage. You know, I don't even know what a good vintage of blood is? Is there some kind of "Wine Spectator" equivalent for blood? I should find that out..." He pulled out his Blackberry.

Maia raised the tumbler of whiskey the bartender handed her. "Tru Blood-tini: The drink of the extra-douchey vampire..."

The broker's words started to reverberate in Maia's head. "And maybe a Tru Blood-tini for my mistress!" What did that mean? Maia grabbed his shoulder. ""What do you mean by "mistress?!""

"You know, head honcho, person in charge, boss lady."

"Yeah, I know," Maia rolled her eyes. "Who is your "boss lady?""

The broker suddenly grew serious. "Look," he said. "Don't make me do this. You know how there are some people you can walk away from and all you have to worry about is awkward eye contact at parties? And then there are other people you know that if you walked away from them you'd find all your pets dead? Lily wouldn't just kill your pets. She'd also kill anyone your pet had ever made eye contact with. So I am bringing her a drink. Do not mess this up for me because then I will have no choice but to bring this all down on you."

Drinks in hand he stalked away and Maia let him. She felt like her world was spinning and suspected more than alcohol was to blame. Could it be *that* Lily?

Luke needed to know about this. She had to find him.

* * *

**A/N: I know "I suck at summaries" is kind of a fanfic cliche but I really do suck at summaries. Anyone have any suggestions on how to make this story's summary better?**


	5. Eyes on the prize

Simon wandered the streets still fuming about his rebuff by Maryse. How could she so cavalierly the loss of so many lives? Shadowhunters really good be myopic jerks sometimes.

Thirst began to gnaw at the back of his throat and while he hadn't yet embraced his inner vampire Simon knew this could lead to trouble. He made a beeline for Takis. Their blood and hot chocolate, he'd grown to think, was actually pretty great comfort food.

His mood was not helped by the fact that he'd been trying to check in with Maia for hours only to be met with an automated message that her number was no longer in service. Maia wasn't exactly the type to be glued to her phone, but she definitely wasn't one to fail to pay her bill or disconnect her number without telling her friends. Simon had even dropped by the Garroway pack's abandoned police station and the Hunter's Moon looking for her. Maia hadn't been there. No one had been and that fact made the hairs on the back of Simon's neck stand up.

As he pushed open Taki's front door he glowered at the interior. Since when, Simon thought, did he glower at things? He was more of a gazer or a narrow eye skeptic. This was not one of his better days. At this point, though, Simon was willing to embrace his surliness. If a glower-fest was what he needed then he may as well get it out of his system in an environment where he didn't risk alarming anyone.

Simon paled. From a corner booth Jace glared back at him while Alec nodded slightly and Isabelle levelly returned his gaze with raised eyebrows looking gorgeous as ever. Just looking at Isabelle made his breath hitch. How did that still happen to him when he didn't actually have to breath?

"Hi," Simon raked his hand through his shock of dark hair. "How are you?"

"Fantastic," said Jace. "Stupendous. Willing to give perfunctory answers to a profoundly stupid question. And super glad that you're here since we came to Taki's to get away from vampire drama."

Simon ignored him and focused on Isabelle and Alec. "Have you talked to Maia recently?" They shook their heads. "Well… Since I've run into you I might as well bring up another fun fact that your brethren will probably be prone to dismiss. I haven't been able to get a hold of Maia all day. I'm worried. It's unlike her."

A look of anger flashed across Isabelle's face and Alec's expression tightened. "So a vampire nest burning and a missing werewolf… All in the same day. This sounds serious," said Alec.

Simon told them about that afternoon's events. Jace kept rolling his eyes.

"What's wrong with him?" said Simon gesturing his head towards Jace, "I should be more specific: what in particular is he blaming for his jerk-ish-ness today?"

"Nothing," shot back Jace. "Except for the usual: the majority of the world seems to be comprised of idiots."

"He's just mad that Clary's doing something he can't relate to," said Isabelle in a characteristically tactless burst of insight. "Clary's got a new tutor who's all about runes and theorizing and tapping into your inner power and all that mystical touchy feely stuff. That means Clary is venturing into a Shadowhunter territory Jace has never frequented. So he's been all pissy since Viola showed up."

Simon felt pleased. "So this Viola Branwell is the real deal? She's going to help Clary tap into her angel mojo and maybe show her her options?" Jace gave him whatever a glower would be if it were hyped up on anabolic steroids. Simon abruptly made his expression neutral.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you have crappy poker face, vampire?" sneered Jace.

Simon sighed. "Look. Your relationship with Clary is your business. But this thing with the du Mort and now Maia and the wolves… that's everybody's business… We should do something."

Something flitted across Jace's face like he was trying to object but either couldn't or wouldn't let himself. Jace exhaled. "You're right."

"What?" said Simon. "Say that again?"

Alec looked at both of them as if he couldn't believe this was actually his life. "Ok… So we're down some vampires. And now we think we're missing some wolves. Let's look for them rather than sitting here and angsting."

Simon was taken aback but nodded.

Jace and Isabelle both raised their eyebrows at Alec. "Sir, yes, sir," said Jace defiantly though he didn't move to object.

"We'll meet back at Taki's at five and share our findings. Until then, nobody freak out. Nobody be a dick. Eyes on the prize," Alec said.

"Eyes on the prize?" said Jace. "Are you a motivational speaker now?"

"I said *don't* be a dick, Jace."


	6. Runed feelings

Excitement coursed through Clary's veins like a triple shot of espresso. After their introduction she and Viola Branwell had gone straight from to the Institute's library where Viola had shown Clary an ancient copy of the Gramarye. To gain insight into the nature of Clary's gift, Viola suggested she simply flip through the book and focus on her own feelings and reactions to each rune. When Clary opened to the first page she'd felt as if a wave of heat had rolled over her. The runes seemed to be both simultaneously still and in motion, almost alive.

As she looked at the "remember" rune images of her childhood began to replay in her mind. Jocelyn's paint stained hands reaching down to pick Clary up. The feel of the grass under her feet as she ran to the lake at Luke's farm.

The "grace" rune had made her body feel light and fluid yet tightly controlled as if her own muscles gained the memory of a prima ballerina's. When Clary closed the book she could still feel the power thrumming through its cracked leather cover.

Viola had serenely tucked a lock of her chocolate colored hair behind her ear and nodded as Clary told her about the images. While there were many theories about why runes worked the way they did, Viola believed - and Clary's own experiences confirmed - that runes were ultimately connected to the individual Shadowhunter's imagination and self-perception. The more Clary understood herself, the more she'd be able to understand and use her rune creation ability. An intensive immersion program harnessing visualization and self awareness was the best way to explore Clary's talent.

By the time they'd begun discussing the possibility of viewing some of the original Nephilim texts in Idris and visiting sacred sites in the Silent City, Clary was shocked to discover that three hours had passed. Faded late afternoon sunlight slanted through the library windows.

Before Viola left to check on her son whom she had apparently brought with her to the Institute, she insisted that Clary take a break for dinner since rune creation could be draining. But Clary had been smiling for so long her face hurt and was too excited to eat. Bursting to share her experience with someone, she'd ask Church to take her to Jace.

Church, much to the rotund Persian's satisfaction, only had to walk her a few yards before returning to his preferred spot in front of the fire. Jace stood just on the other side of the library door, hand poised to open it. Though at first he looked as if he'd swallowed something unpleasant, he lit up when he saw Clary. She felt his arms tighten around her waist as his face bent down to bury itself in her hair. He inhaled deeply. "Hey," he smiled.

"Not such a great day?" She stepped a few inches back and led him by the hand towards one of the high back chairs in front of the library's enormous fireplace. Jace threw himself into the leather cushioning, pulling Clary down into his lap.

"My day's much better now." Jace threaded his fingers through her curls and brought her face down to his for a lingering kiss. "Okay. I've got to confess something. And you should know it pains me to say this to the point where I might need to join a support group. But here goes: It looks like Simon was right."

"Oh, the horror," said Clary. She furrowed her brow. "What about?"

"That there may be more to the whole Hotel du Mort fire than just crispy vampires. There aren't any wolves around either." He recounted his afternoon combing the city for Maia and the werewolves with Isabelle, Alec, and Simon. His expression turned grim and he began to rub his temples as if he were getting a headache. "But enough about the latest portent of doom and gloom. Tell me about your day."

Clary raised her eyebrows. "You really want to know? Or is this you trying to be polite?"

"'Polite' isn't really my thing."

As Clary told Jace about her session with Viola, he peppered kisses on her face and neck, occasionally making throaty "mmm-hmmm" noises. But when Clary began telling him about the plan to devote the majority of her training to the exploration of her relationship to runes Jace pulled back and looked incredulous..

"What?" Clary asked.

"Nothing."

"No. What?"

'It's just, when something is going down with a demon you aren't going to be able to "emotionally aware" and "meaningfully connect" yourself out of the situation. It doesn't matter how and why runes theoretically work. They work. You need to learn how to use them, not give them therapy."

Clary got off his lap. "I know that."

"There's always something bad going on out there, Clary. You've got to be prepared."

"I know that too. God, Jace!" She narrowed her eyes. "Did it ever occur to you that this is my way of preparing? Why are you being like this?" All the joy she'd felt earlier had evaporated, replaced by a tightening in her chest. "Why are you ruining this for me? And if you make a "rune" pun I swear to God I'll…"

"Why are you being like this?" Jace was out of the chair now. "I'd never tell you not to take a risk when I take so many but right now, in addition to the friendly neighborhood demons, there's something going to down with the vampires and maybe the werewolves neither of whom will be interested in your psychological relationship with their fangs. And you're telling me that for the foreseeable future you plan on spiritually connecting with angelic tattoos. Bearing in mind that your goal is *not* to get eaten how do you see that as a good plan?"

"Well Maryse and Viola agree with me. Also? Newsflash: You suck at being supportive. I've just had one of the most amazing and empowering days of my life - which I really needed, by the way - and here you are listing all the ways you think it's wrong just because it's not how you train. I'm not you, Jace. I need to be able to function in the world independent of just being your girlfriend. I need a space of my own."

His face paled. "You need space from me?" he whispered.

"No, Jace. That's not what I'm saying. You're not listening to me…" she reached out for him but he withdrew.

His nostrils flared. "I just… I just can't right now, Clary." He stalked off, banging the heavy oak library door behind him.


	7. Sketch pads to a demon fight

Drenched in sweat, his knuckles raw, Jace left the training room finally feeling calmer. He knew Clary would resent it if he interfered in her tutoring but he saw no reason he couldn't make sure Viola Branwell knew exactly how dangerous New York's Downworld was. The thought of Clary alive and pissed off at him was infinitely preferable to the thought of her lying battered at the mercy of a demon.

Perhaps, Jace thought, he could deliver Viola a wake up call loud enough to jolt her out of going through with such an insanely impractical program of study. "Visualization." "Self-awareness." By the Angel, they were Shadowhunters not residents of an artists' commune. He'd remind Viola of that. If he could ever find her. The Institute never seemed so cavernous to him as it did when he needed to find somebody.

As he strode down the second floor hallway he heard a crash come from the infirmary. He flung open its door. What he sincerely hoped was an empty bed pan flew at his head. He ducked. Viola Branwell's body hurled towards him like a rag doll. Catching her around the waist, he saw a huge red welt blooming on her cheek and blood dripping from her hairline. One of her arms was tilted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

A Shadowhunter boy who couldn't have been much older than Max sprang at Jace. Almost all of his exposed skin was covered in runes - some permanent, some faded - more runes than Jace had ever seen on any Shadowhunter, let alone a child that age. Underneath the runes his skin was a faint green color. The boy vaulted over the remains of a bed and let out a snarl that sounded barely human.

Jace dodged the boy's strike but even with his lightning fast reflexes Jace almost didn't make it in time. He twisted around and pinned the boy's wrists behind his back. Only Jace's advantage in weight and height allowed him to kick the boy's legs out from under him and drive a knee into his back, forcing his belly to the ground.

Drawing out his stele, Jace rendered a binding rune around the boy's ankles and wrists and a rune of quietude on his neck. An image of Clary restrained by Valentine at Lake Lynn and himself bound and imprisoned by the Inquisitor flashed through Jace's mind. He shook off the vision and surveyed his surroundings.

Viola Branwell was sitting up, leaning against the infirmary wall. Her right arm lay useless at her side as she clumsily tried to draw an iratze over her heart with her left hand. Tears streamed down her face. "It's not what you think," she said wearily.

"I have no idea what I think," said Jace, moving across the room to assist her. "How did your assailant get into the Institute? Who is that boy?"

"He's not an "assailant." He's my son. His name is Henry. He's only ten." The boy writhed on the floor causing his wrists and ankles to rub against their restraints and bleed.

Henry suddenly ceased to struggle against his bonds. His body limp and his eyes very large and far away, he began to weep soundlessly. Jace could tell that the rune of quietude was no longer what was stopping him from making a sound. He wasn't crying, mouth open for maximal wailing impact in the way Max normally did when he was upset and sought aid or sympathy from those around them. It was as if Henry had learned that no aid or sympathy would ever come so vocalizing his misery served no purpose.

Viola limped over to her son, brushed the hair back from his face, and began weeping. Jace had never wanted to be in a room less in his entire life yet he knew couldn't leave. Eloquence escaping him, he widened his eyes at Viola in what he hoped she saw as an imploring look, willing her to provide him with some backstory so he didn't have to ask questions he had no idea how to phrase.

Viola sighed. In the practiced voice of someone who has told the same story many times she said, "When Henry was five a demon attacked him and his father. His father was killed and Henry barely survived. He's been sick ever since. Sometimes - most of the time, really - he's a very sweet boy."

"Can't you do something for him? Maybe the Clave can help?"

Viola gave a harsh laugh. "We've been trying "something" for half his life. And the help you just provided is pretty textbook Clave. If there's a particularly sensitive Consul sometimes they offer to euthanize him like he's a rabid dog. And you can imagine what he'd do to mundane doctors or psychiatric institutions."

"No one will help you find a cure?"

Viola gave him a withering look. "Our warrior race, as it turns out, isn't that big on compassionately managed nursing homes and psychiatric research. Warlocks might be able to help… For a price. Which I can't afford and the Clave won't pay."

Jace watched, speechless, as Viola undid the binding runes and rune of quietude. She cradled the shivering, bleeding boy in her lap and rocked him back and forth, still not using her right arm. Blood from her head wound dripped into Henry's hair.

Jace finally understood: The boy was covered in runes because Viola, rune expert as she was, had literally tried every rune in the book to help her son. None of them had worked and no one else was willing to help.

A chill of realization washed over Jace as he corrected himself. Viola hadn't quite tried every rune in the book if Clary had the ability to create new ones which must be exactly why Viola had agreed to tutor Clary after being a recluse for so many years. How likely was it that Viola would let her own personal rune creation team cut back on R & D? Jace knew if someone he loved were in Henry's circumstances he'd stop at nothing to help them.

Something big was wreaking havoc in the Downworld and Viola and Clary were going to insist on bringing sketch pads to a demon fight. Jace's fists began to clench and unclench, itching to get back to the heavy punching bags of the training room.


	8. Bite, drain, kill, repeat

Clary kicked the curb with the heel of her engineer boot as she waited for the crosswalk light to turn. Jace was amazing but sometimes he drove her crazy not in the least part because he was so maddeningly sure of his own amazingness. Far be it for anyone to do things differently from him. After Jace had left Clary in the library she'd throw her sketch pad in her messenger bag and headed for Taki's to sketch out her frustrations while eating a burger and fries. Maybe she'd even overhear some useful gossip about the du Mort.

Clary was surprised to see Simon, Isabelle, and Alec already at Taki's huddled over coffee cups, deep in conversation.

"Clary!" Isabelle waved her over to their table. Clary slid into the booth. "Fancy running into you here!"

"Apparently running into people at Taki's is what we do now," Simon said. " I feel like there should be more than one Downworld restaurant we hang out at. Given the number of preternatural beings in the city and how well the foodie thing is doing in the mundane world I bet there's a market for a few more… Maybe, like, a really decent bagel place…" He broke off as he realized everyone was staring at him. "And why am I choosing this moment to make a business plan? I'll shut up now."

Isabelle scrunched her face at him. "Annnnnyyyyway…Did Jace find you? He went back to the Institute to look for you."

Clary swallowed and looked down at her boots. Just hearing Jace's name made blood boil all over again. "He did."

Sensing her discomfort Simon changed the subject. "We were talking about the whole du Mort situation. We're calling it Vamp-maggedon."

"You're the only one that's calling it that," said Isabelle. She turned to Clary, "Did you know that there are missing werewolves now too?"

Clary nodded. "Jace told me."

"Do you think the two of things are connected?" mused Isabelle, "Like maybe the wolves burned down the du Mort and ran away to escape punishment? Or maybe they vampires are snatching the wolves up as revenge?"

Alec, who had been sitting quietly in the far corner of the booth absent mindedly caressing his coffee cup, broke in. "If we want to know what's up with the vampires we should ask a vampire. We could go canvas the subway tunnels. Vampires that absolutely have to travel during the day use them and there's always the occasional vampire who couldn't make it back to their nest by sunrise and has to shelter down there. Plus it's neutral territory so we won't have to worry about wandering into a vampire nest uninvited."

"This is why you'll never be on reality TV, Alec," said Simon. "You're way too practical and level headed."

"What's reality TV?" asked Isabelle. Simon widened his eyes at her.

Clary, feeling that she could not stomach more flirty pseudo-fighting, plunged in, "So let's go check out the subway tunnels."

Alec shook his head. "I don't know, Clary. You're not fully trained yet so I'm not sure this is safe for you. Also? Jace would kill me if he knew I let you go on a recon mission. I prefer to remain alive."

Clary set her jaw. "You just said that the tunnels were neutral territory with a maybe a vampire or two taking a nap. How dangerous could it be? If it makes you feel better I could stick with you and you could show me the ropes. It'll be like on the job training."

Alec looked wary.

"See that face she's making?" Simon gestured at Clary. "She's already decided she's going - with or without your blessing - so you may as well take her up on this offer so she isn't down in the tunnels wandering around like teen angst on Xanax." Clary glared at Simon. "Well," he said, "You were almost roadkill this morning. Don't sue a guy for being cautious." Clary continued to stare daggers at Simon as he hurriedly bent down and tapped at his phone. "Here: I'll text you guys a map of the subway tunnels. We can divvy up routes. Alec, you and Clary can take half. Isabelle and I can do the rest."

Isabelle's face brightened.

"All right," agreed Alec, reluctance in his voice. "I'll get a hold of Magnus too. I guess I'll have to reschedule tonight anyway." Alec looked glum as his fingers worried at the hole in the cuff of his sweater.

"What about weapons?" asked Clary.

Isabelle thumped her backpack down on the table. It made an ominous jangling noise. "Way ahead of you."

* * *

Combing subway tunnels was about as exciting as it sounded. Noise carried in the hollow darkness so Clary and Alec crept through the blackness in silence.

Left alone with her thoughts Clary couldn't get Jace out of her mind. Alec had been right: No way would Jace be happy that she was actively searching out vampires. Maybe, Clary thought, letting him know what she and Alec were up to would avoid a fight as well as show Jace that it was not his place to decide where she went and what she did.

His words from that afternoon came back to her: You need to learn how to use runes, not give them therapy. What an insufferable ass. Maybe she wouldn't text him.

As Clary thought this out she kept glancing over her shoulder. She never saw anything there and she could tell that Alec was starting to get exasperated with her paranoia. Still she couldn't shake the feeling that something was following them.

To be fair, condescending jerk though Jace might be at times, this was exactly the kind of situation where his overprotectiveness and general affinity for physical combat might actually be useful. Plus Clary was combing subway tunnels which was definitely not emotionally cohering with angelic tattoos or whatever ridiculous thing Jace had implied she wanted to spend all her time doing. It would do Jace some good to see that he was overreacting. Clary pulled out her phone and texted Jace their location.

* * *

An hour or so later Clary was getting really, really tired of skulking around subterranean New York. She found herself obsessing over why she hadn't heard back from Jace. Maybe he was just in the training room punching out his frustration and couldn't hear his phone. Or was he ignoring her?

"Stop," whispered Alec. He held up his hand as if making a military signal. His body went very still like a dog on point. Swiftly and silently, Alec drew out his stele and traced a rune underneath his ear. Clary recognized it as a hearing amplifier. "I think I hear someone moving around up ahead. It's probably Magnus coming to meet us. But I want you to stay right here, out of sight just in case it's not. I'll come back and get you when I'm sure it's safe."

Clary didn't like being left behind but now did not seem like the time to argue with Alec. She nodded and shrank back against the cold cement tunnel wall as Alec soundlessly moved forward and was enveloped by darkness.

Clary heard a hissing sound coming from behind her. She whirled around. Five pale, luminous faces looked back at her. They must have been followed after all. Clary cursed herself for not trusting her gut. Her hand moved to the hilt of her seraph blade and she willed herself not to panic. "I'm glad I ran into you," said Clary, her voice shaking. "We were hoping to find some vampires who might have some news about the fire at the Hotel du Mort."

The tall, blonde vampire in the middle of the group laughed. He reminded Clary of a football player at her old high school who had a penchant for shoving smaller kids into lockers. "We're glad to run into you too. We were getting hungry." His fangs slid down and he sprung.

An image of the midsummer sun flashed across Clary's mind's eye and the smooth curves of a rune began to take shape. Her fingers itched to find her stele but she faltered. Would this rune even do any good? She didn't feel like she could be sure though she *could* be sure about what conventional weapons would do. Vampires will not be interested in your psychological relationship with their fangs. Jace's words ringing in her ears, she reached for her seraph blade.

"Sariel!" Clary withdrew her weapon as she invoked it and swung making contact with the vampire's neck now just inches from her own. He screamed and stepped back as another two vampires lunged forward. Clary crouched down, grabbed the seraph blade with both hands and cut a wide arch in front of herself, slicing into both her attackers' chests.

"What's a Sariel?" asked a high, clear voice.

"I don't know," answered another deeper voice. "But this chick can fight! Maybe she's a vampire slayer but instead of being named Buffy she's named Sariel. Sariel's a way more bad-ass name anyway."

"Dude, it doesn't matter. She's a walking blood bag. Just act in line with traditional vampiric values like the boss lady says and you'll be fine. Bite, drain, kill, repeat. We are authentic and self-actualized."

Clary had never heard vampires talk this way and made a mental note to ask Viola about "traditional vampiric values" if she managed not to get herself killed.

A set of sharp teeth sunk into her thigh as yet another vampire came at her from behind. They seemed to be everywhere, all nails and teeth and bruising fists. Clary impaled her blade in the top of the vampire's head and took off at a sprint, hoping that the vampires were wounded enough to allow her a sufficient head start to make it to the surface or at least find Alec. Clary snapped her back over her shoulder and spotted a blur just behind her that soon wrapped its legs around her waist affixing itself to her back. The vampire bit down on her neck and sucked.

Clary tried to shake him off but his arms were wrapped around hers, pinning them to her sides. She shook her head violently and felt the vampire's hold on her body loosen. Up ahead she could see movement. Was it Jace?

Light burst through the subway tunnel illuminating all of the pipes, water stains, and rats. For a moment Clary found herself thinking that she was glad she'd spent the past few hours in the dark.

The vampire attached to her neck shrieked and withdrew its fangs, running away from the light. As Clary's eyes adjusted she saw Magnus's tall, thin form take shape, rays of what looked like sunlight coming from his fingertips. A very pale Alec drooped against his side.

Magnus raised his eyebrows at Clary. "Oh good! It's about time we found you. Did you know that there's an enormous vampire nest down here? Because I didn't and there's definitely not supposed to be. At any rate, let's get out of here. Harnessing the sun is no small thing. I'll be very annoyed if you dawdle and make me drain my boyfriend."

The tunnel began to spin around Clary. She realized she was on her knees though she didn't remember how she got there. She pushed her fingers against her neck. They came away covered in blood.

The last thing she saw were Magnus's cat like eyes staring down at her. "We better take you back to the Institute," she heard him say. "You're probably going to want a band aid."


	9. Punishing inanimate objects

After calling in Maryse to take care of Viola and Henry, Jace returned to the training room. He threw a dagger at the wall. Thunk. The sound it made as it hit the wall was satisfying. Imagining the blades cutting away the unwanted images flashing through his mind, Jace picking up his pace.

A bruised and battered Viola clutching her .

The boy's small form, so like Max's, weeping and restrained. Thunk.

The grim horror in Maryse's face when she'd laid eyes on Henry. Thunk.

Clary bent over a book, determined to follow the lead of a woman desperate to use her rune power for her own gain. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Letting out a strangled grunt of frustration, Jace flung himself at the wall, slamming his fist through the paneling, making his knuckles bleed.

"God, Jace," came a familiar dry voice from behind him. "What is it with you and punishing inanimate objects?" Isabelle stood in the door frame, dark eyes giving Jace a piercing stare.

"The wall knows what it did." The humor dropped out of Jace's voice as he took in the look on Isabelle's face. "What happened?"

Isabelle swallowed. "Ok. Before you freak out you should know: she'll be fine. She's already been treated. There is nothing to worry about. But Clary's in the infirmary."

Isabelle's words seemed to be coming from far away. Adrenaline coursed through Jace's body as he bolted from the room.

* * *

When he'd arrived at Clary's bedside iratzes and blood replenishing runes had already been applied to her limp form but blood - her blood - still matted the lower half of her hair and stiffly moulded her shirt to her torso like a gruesome plaster cast.

He'd been sitting by Clary's bed for hours, his thumbs rubbing circles on her slack hand, when she stirred, prying her eyes open with great effort. Jace let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and drew Clary to him, holding her tight to his body in an effort to both reassure himself that she was still with him as well as lend her all the strength she needed. Before Clary, Jace had no idea another person's touch could feel so much like balm.

"Jace," Clary breathed into his chest.

"You scared me," he said. She drew back from him slightly. He kept one hand on her back and drew the other up to her face, cupping it gently. He kissed her forehead.

"Looks like I had some practical training today after all," Clary smiled weakly.

A wave of anger crashed over Jace. He wanted to yell at Clary, tell her to focus on combat training so he would never have to worry like that again. But she looked so small and fragile that yelling seemed cruel. Anyway, a part of him knew that Clary's stubbornness meant she'd refuse to do what he wanted on just on principle but he couldn't stay quiet.

He took in a calming breath and kept his voice purposefully light. "If you're going to insist on chasing vampires down dark tunnels you and I have got some sparring to do. But, you know, that could be a lot of fun. In fact, where were we this morning?" He bent down to kiss her lips. She kissed him back somewhat mechanically and he knew his change in tactics hadn't was it that coming up with ways to slay a platoon of demons was a cakewalk but figuring out one sentence to explain himself to Clary was damn near impossible? He drew back.

Clary set her jaw. "I'm not going to ditch my whole course of study because a vampire bit me. It's not like the fact that vampires have fangs is new information that should dramatically alter my world view."

Jace could feel panic rise up in his chest and fought to keep his voice even. "The du Mort burned down, there's an ominous lack of wolfy wet dog smell in the city, and you were just a Shadowhuntered flavored juice box for a nest full of vampires no one even knew existed until today. The situation has most definitely altered, Clary."

"No, it hasn't. Being a Shadowhunter is a high risk profession, Jace. That's why there are healing runes and an infirmary. Anyway, I don't know that more weapons training would have helped me all that much. Who knows how many vampires down there. Maybe hundreds. A lone Shadowhunter is never going to beat that many vampires. Anyone would have needed back up." Jace raised his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe not you. But I'm never going to be you, Jace. I need to figure out how to be me. Maybe if I work at it I can figure out some defensive runes or maybe a rune for…"

Jace stood up and pulled his hands through his hair, making it stick up. "The concept of "art as a weapon" does not apply when a vampire is two inches from your carotid artery. In that case only weapons can be weapons." He willed himself to calm down. "But you're right about back up. When we're done here I'm going to talk to Alec about what the hell he was thinking not telling me to come meet you guys…"

Clary exploded. "_"When we're done here?!_" I'm not some subordinate you can just dismiss, Jace. And I *did* call for back up. Check your phone."

All the blood drained from Jace's face. Hands shaking, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and saw a missed text message.

_Looking for some friendly neighborhood vampires in the subway tunnels. I know it sounds crazy but I can't shake the feeling someone's following us. Anyway, I miss you. Come meet us._

A buzzing began in Jace's ears. He clenched and unclenched his fists, eyes darting around the room, unsure of what to do.

Jace realized he'd broken Clary's bedside table after he saw it lying in splinters on the floor. Clary stared at him, pale and wide eyed. He'd scared her. Oh God. She was afraid of him. He dropped to his knees.

"Well… That side table must have had a lot to answer for," said Magnus from the the doorway. Jace looked from him to Clary and ran from the room.

* * *

Clary watched the tensed muscles on Jace's back as he left. What had just happened? She sucked in a deep breath as she blinked back tears. Magnus's cat eyes regarded her calmly, a sympathetic expression on his face. "How's Alec?" Clary asked weakly.

"He's fine. All he needed was a nap. In fact, we're going dancing tonight at that new faerie club under Battery Park just as soon as I finish up my work here." Magnus wiggled his hips in a syncopated hula.

Clary smiled in spite of herself. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Magnus was 800 years old. Perhaps age granted you humor as well as wisdom. "Work?"

"Work. Keeping up the level of fabulousness that is my life does not come cheap. Luckily, I've got the skills to pay the bills. The Clave wants the wards around the Institute reinforced and a portal installed." Magnus dropped his voice and leaned towards her in a conspiratorial fashion. "And it's not going to be just any old portal. We're making some improvements. It's all very hush-hush so don't breathe a word to anyone." Clary nodded solemnly.

As if deep in thought Magnus closed his eyes and pressed his palms together."So you've got your portal, yes?" A glowing swirl with the fluid-like appearance of the middle of a portal appeared in his hand. "And you know projections?" He produced an ornate gold object about the size of a matchbox from his pocket. "Well this portal is going to have the capacity to project the user's image to whoever they have in mind with near unlimited amplification capacity. For instance," Magnus's eyes fluttered shut.

Hundreds of hula-ing Magnuses as real in appearance as the Magnus standing right in front of Clary, surrounded the perimeter of the infirmary. Magnus gave a slight bow, making the copious amounts of sequins on his dress shirt sparkle as the projections faded away.

Though Clary had always been impressed by Magnus's magical talents, she'd never really thought of him as an inventor before. "Wow! You're like Steve Jobs!"

"Steve Jobs wished he had my skill. He told me so." Magnus's eyes twinkled.

"Wait… what?" Between her blood loss and her fight with Jace Clary didn't have the energy to go down that particular rabbit hole. She changed gears. "Thank you for saving my life, Magnus."

"I would say, "My pleasure" only the whole experience wasn't very pleasurable. It was exhausting."

Clary bit her lip. "Did any of those vampires seem a little… off to you? I've never heard vampires talk like that before."

Magnus nodded. "One of them called me "super sparkly Dumbledore." I mean, I'll take the compliment because it happens to be accurate but there was something about the way the fledgling said it…" He shook his head. "I'll tell you another thing: judging by their fashion sense and emotional attachment to their iPhones all of those vampires were new. The night's children do make new vampires on a fairly regular basis but a whole nest of newbies?"

All joking and lightness abruptly left Magnus's face. "I don't know exactly what's going on but nothing about that nest was a good sign. Be careful, Clary." He squeezed her hand and his tone changed again. "I better get to work! I wouldn't want to disappoint Alec by being late!" Magnus strode out of the room.

Dropping back against her pillows, Clary suddenly felt very tired. She closed her eyes and resolved to speak with Viola about what, exactly, would be the best way for her to prepare herself for whatever was happening with the vampires. As she drifted off she heard Jace's words: _ 'The situation has most definitely altered, Clary." _

* * *

**A/N: If you've been reading this story from the beginning I wanted to let you know that: **

**1) You are awesome. Also? That shirt you're wearing right now? It looks fantastic on you. FANTASTIC. **

**2) I'm going to go back through and punch up some of the earlier chapters. NO PLOT POINTS WILL CHANGE so while you're more than welcome to go back and re-read them, you don't need to in order to follow along with the story. I'm just going through to liven up a paragraph here and smooth out an awkward sentence there. I'll still publish a new chapter every week or so. I try my best to publish fully proof read, finished chapters but I'm finding that some things can only be improved after some time and distance. **

**At any rate, cheers! Thanks again for reading! I welcome any feedback.**


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